Rock'n'roll High School
by Zamelot
Summary: It was freshman year all over again! The shunning... the hard, cold stares... usually this came from the wanna be punks, but there are none in a prep school. [dropped]
1. DUMB

I've been listening to ACDC since 2nd grade, I had my backstreet boys and Brittnay Spears moments in like first grade, but I've always loved classic rock and always did. I got heavily into it in 7th grade b/c everyone was listening to rap and hip hop (I recently found out that they were different) I had a couple of preppy friends who didn't know any classci rockers except for Queen and it killed me. Then, all of a sudden, I'm in High school and everyone around me is a classic rock lover. Paridise, right? NO! I don't feel original anymore...

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**Rock'n'roll High School **

Chapter one: D-U-M-B (everyone's accusing me)

_"Blues is easy to play, but hard to feel." –Jimi Hendrix_

"Some kid left their locker open, so I went in and cleaned it. Now, some random freshman's gonna find their locker mysteriously organized."

I rolled my eyes with the phone against my shoulder trying to force the long, knee-length sock onto my foot—which was so not working! "I swear, you do the weirdest things, Saito,"

He chuckled over the other end. "So, how long are you in for again?" he asked.

"You're making it sound as if I'm in jail," I complained. Sock—still—not—working!

"You basically are,"

I gave him a mock laugh. "Gee, thanks," I spat. "For the rest of my junior year."

Saito laughed. "Aw, that sucks," he cleared his throat. "So, how's your second day in 'civilization'?" he _had_ to ask.

"HORRIBLE!" I shouted into the mouthpiece. Can you believe it was only morning, too? "First my jack in the box of a mother had to get herself found 'incapable of caring for a child' and gets me sent off to live with my grandfather in the preppiest neighborhood known to man! Then, my cousin, Okon, drags me to the local salon—by my ear—to remove the blue bleach from my hair—"

"Wait. Didn't you work for six months to get the money to dye it?"

"Yeah," I replied, sarcasm thick on my tongue. "Why do you think I care so much? Darn the preps! Darn them all to heck!" I collapsed backward onto the polished wooden floor dramatically, the sock thrown halfway across the bedroom in frustration. "Then Jiya _has_ to enroll me into the most renowned and expensive school on the planet. A PREP SCHOOL! Is he foolin me? To top it off, they have uniforms. Blazers, ties, stockings, and knee-length skirts." You will never catch me dead in a knee length skirt—or a skirt at all for that matter.

"I take it that that's not all that's bothering you,"

"Hell, no! Jiya woke me up this morning at 6:30 claiming that I was going to be late for school. 6:30, man! He says that:" I imitated a poor version of my Jiya " 'Unlike your old school who didn't care what time you arrived this school wants you on time exactly so you don't miss out on your educational experience',"

"Ha, that sucks for you. I'm still in bed,"

I pouted and stood up in front of the life-sized mirror Omasu gave me. I looked like a prep: I blended in so flawlessly, that—I hated it! A schoolgirl uniform, eye-make- up-less, and funky hair-style-less. I had this thick, heavy, braid hanging down my back like a normal. Well, at least no more random strangers were gonna go up to me and shout in my face: "You're a Goth! You hate life, love death, and want to die!"

The first time it happened…I was freaked out. Well, who wouldn't? If some person you've never seen before just went up to you and said that, besides punching their lights out to confirm their suspicions, what would you do?

"Forget you, Saito," I muttered.

"Love you, too, weasel," he laughed.

"MISAO!"

Jiya. Could you tell?

"Shoot. Gotta go. Jiya has summoned me,"

Saito snorted and sighed. "So I heard,"

Yeah, you and half the neighborhood. I hung up the phone and grabbed my bag tossing the cordless onto my bed. I raced out of the room and down the stairs only to run into my grandfather. He tapped his foot impatiently and frowned menacingly.

"Listen up, Misao," he unfolded his arms and placed his hands heavily onto my shoulders. "I want you to behave. This school is considered one of the best schools in the country, I even sent your father there—"

I rolled my eyes and grunted. "Yeah, until he got kicked out—"

"So, I want you on your best behavior," he continued, ignoring my interruption. "This means: no fighting, no cussing, and no cheek; got me?"

I looked to the door and nodded my head, half listening. I hate being told what to do. Jiya clapped his hand onto my back and marched me outside to his silver Mercedes.

"You're a very friendly girl, Misao," Jiya told me once we were seated. He started the engine and began to back out of the driveway. "I'm sure you'll like this school. You'll make plenty of friends, I'm sure of it. I remember that one time you were the belle of the ball and you were playing tag with your friends and you—"

"Ran clear through the glass window, yes, I know Jiya. I remember the three weeks in the hospital," Heck, how could I forget. It was one of the scariest moments of my sixteen-year-old life. The doctors examining me from head to toe, the stinging stuff they put on my cuts, the pieces of glass wedged in between my skin… ugh…

"Well, I think you'll like it," he added.

I shut my eyes. He was trying to brainwash me already! Saying that I'll love this preppy little neighborhood with all their matching fences. "Yeah, so that's why it's called MIPS," I mumbled under my breath; he obviously heard it.

"It's called the Manhattan Institute Prep School," he growled.

I held my hands up. Whatever you say, gramps, whatever you say.

It already annoyed me. The gianormous building, the neatly mowed lawn, the perfectly paved road… it was just…perfect! Nothing is ever that perfect! At least nothing normal. Jiya dropped me off at the front of the building and waited there until I was well into the building… well, so much for skipping. The lady at the desk with long black hair led me down the hall and into a small classroom. She walked on ahead of me and told me wait outside while she announced to the teacher that I'd arrived. Then, a few minutes later, she ushered me in.

I faced this small class of straight-backed sitters, hand folders, and leg crossers. I have been sent into a living hell. I could feel it. All their eyes scrutinizing my every move and appearance. I've never felt so…watched before. Ya, know? The teacher, a tall, big mustached man smiled kindly at me and suggested that I write my name on the board.

M-A-K-I-M-A-C-H-I M-I-S-A-O

The class was silent. I turned to them and smiled sheepishly. They glowered in return. Now I grew up in a bad neighborhood where people glowered at you every two seconds, but when you're up against a wall and there's a whole crowd of people looking at you…. I doubt that you feel my pain………

reviews are appriciated!


	2. Five to One

Sorry for the long wait. Don't expect too much more from me this month because I'm cramming for mid terms and crap. I hate taking exams because I'm not too much of a test taker. AH! Why are people seeing this as a Misao/Saito story? It's not! It's not! I'm sorry if you want it to be, but I'm not too fond of that pairing myself. Not M/S! Sorry. They're good friends, but that's as good as it's gonna get.

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Chapter Two: Five to One

"Hippies? Why, I'm the original."—Jerry Lee Lewis

In eighth grade, we ruled the school. We'd strut down the halls, heads held high, glowering at any seventh grader who tried to stand up to us, and shouting at the sixth graders whenever we felt like it. Then, in high school, it was a complete 180. As a freshman, the sophomores punk'd us, the juniors all told us stuff about the school that practically made me piss in my pants, and the seniors—forget them; they did what every freshman dreaded about High School: informed us that the indoor pool was on the fourth floor—when there are only three!

As a junior, don't think I've broken free from the torture. The seniors were still there. The worse thing that ever happened was when I was a freshman, and the sophomore and junior girls stole my gym clothes. So, in gratitude for earning a zero that day, I stole their day clothes. (I'm an excellent lock picker). They were close to having their stupid, zit faced jock boyfriends beat me black and green.

Now, let me tell you about the fun part of my fourth week as a freshman in jail—I mean school! (Slip of the tongue, I swear). A bunch of sophomores ganged up on me and my friends because we're a bunch of hardcore/metal/classic rockers. (It shows, believe me, it shows). They started yelling at us about being drug addicts, suicidal, depressants, and Satanists.

At first, we ignored it. Me, Saito, Sano, and Shishio just continued talking about attending warp tour this spring. Then, one of the guys jumped in front of us and slapped Sano. Now, Sano…you don't mess with him whether you're a senior, college kid, whatever. The first time I saw him fight, was when some guy was messin with me and wouldn't leave me be, sos Sano came over and slammed one in his face, breaking the guy's jaw. Funny for me, not for the dude with the dislocated jaw.

Anyhow, before Sano could move, I jumped in front of the guy and was close to reorganizing his face, until Tokio came out of nowhere and collided head on with me, knocking us both clear off the bleachers. That resulted in three hours of unconsciousness, one of a screaming lecture, and a day in the hospital.

Let me get to the point: transferring to any other school would've been fine. I could've glowered, growled, and fought all I wanted, but here: in a PREP school; it was freshman year all over again!

I was in some sort of foreign land in a full, effective, John/Yoko peace community. They actually _used_ peer mediation and talked out their fights rather than fighting them. They always _smiled_ at each other and said 'hi' _civilly_. After two days of watching and inspecting it, it began to look forced. They _forced _themselves to have civil, decent conversations about—get this—the weather.

"Hi, how are you? Did you notice how cloudy it is?"

"Oh, yes! I believe that it might rain,"

"Yes, daddy read in the paper this morning that we are supposed to have three inches of it,"

Not even a single contraction. I wasn't even on earth anymore. Maybe Jupiter---but that's not the point! They freaking count the amount of rain we'll get! Aw, jeez…talk to me about a bunch of sticks…. Back where I come from, we don't care about how much rain we get, snow maybe, but never rain. Rain doesn't get us out of school.

You know, for a really "civil" and "friendly" school, they sure went out of their way to befriend me (note the sarcasm). People basically stared at me, and then turned away as soon as I met their gaze. During that first week, _nobody_ spoke or approached me. Zilch. No one. I was pretty much on my own in a world completely upside down in my eyes. Everyone distanced themselves from me…. Snap! I could do the same!

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Principal stopped me in the hall. I hate when principals stop me in the hall. It makes me feel edgy. Especially when I know I did absolutely nothing wrong. It certainly didn't help when everyone in the hall around you stops and scolds you as well. 

"Miss Alice—"

"Misao,"

"Miss Misao, this is considered—"

One of the best schools in the country. Been there done that, get to it, lady.

"And I would highly appreciate it if you would come into school with something a bit more appropriate."

Okay. I am not a… school spirit person. I just can't do it. I mean, I hate going there, so what's the point of supporting something I hate? They've already forced me into a skirt and blazer… what more did they want from me?

"First of all, try wearing a bit more color. Not just black. And your make up…" she hesitated. Which confused me because I didn't wear make up. It was too girly for me. "Well…." She motioned toward my beloved converses. "You should consider buying new shoes. I don't want any of my students to look poor. Those are atrocious."

She's messin with my cons. You really don't mess with my cons. I love my shoes. They were the first pair that I actually bought with my own money. The first day I got them…I was so proud of myself that I vowed to wear them for as long as I could. (Actually, I just didn't have any money to buy a new pair right now). But still!

The bell gave a sudden shrill ring causing me to jump out of my shoes. The hall then began to empty of students as they headed for their next class. The principal looked back at me.

"Scurry to your next class now and maybe you'll make some new friends who'll teach you the dress code," she began to walk away and I stuck my tongue out at her back. Suddenly, she turned back around, my tongue flying back in its proper place at the same time. "I want you to go by the rules, Miss Joelle— "

"Misao."

"Misao. Abide by the rules…and I won't have to consider expelling you as I did to your father."

Whoa! Whoa! Okay, I knew this lady was old—but I didn't think she was _that old!_ She actually remembered my father. I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Probably a bad thing considering all the bad luck that's been following me around. She gave me a once over, then continued her way down the hall. I glanced down at the schedule clutched in my fist and gave a whoop of joy: my next period class: lunch. Lunch. My favorite time of the—well, the end of the day was actually my favorite time of the day—but lunch is my second favorite.

I took off down the scarily deserted hallway to the cafeteria, when suddenly—I collided head on with something—or rather someone. I rubbed the sore spot on my head and looked up angrily only to clash violently with the angriest pair of eyes I'd ever seen. The face it belonged to wasn't much friendlier either. Not to mention there were four other people glowering at me as well. Yeah… school was hell…. So was life.

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:squirms: I don't like the way it's come out. I really don't have time for this story... I'd like to continue it, but it's not coming out the way I planned... possible discontinuation... 


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